


Lines

by CrackingLamb



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bittersweet, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Pining, Solavellan Hell, Vague Lavellan - Freeform, canon compliant ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrackingLamb/pseuds/CrackingLamb
Summary: Where are the lines drawn that should not be crossed?When they beg to change, how does one stop from erasing them entirely?Where is the truth when one is dishonest by design?When Pride goes before the fall, where are the lines?A Solas POV of the romance arc.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 22
Kudos: 48





	Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the order in which I've uploaded my Solavellan works, this one was actually written first. I've frankly got a whole new set of headcannons for the series, so this won't reflect anything that's in Twist, for instance. I just needed to get this out of my WIP folder, lol.
> 
> As always, feedback is the lifeblood, and I reply to every comment. Happy Friday the 13th, have some brooding, regret and Fen'Harel's poor life choices.

She had awoken, sealing the Rift and bearing up well under the strain of the Seeker's anger that she alone had survived the explosion of the Conclave. Solas was surprised too, although for a very different reason. It should not have happened, and now he must maneuver carefully to get his orb back. As it was, keeping the mark from killing her had proven to be a challenge against showing too much knowledge.

“It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he said, dutifully playing the part of humble apostate. She gave him a thorough once over, her true thoughts hidden behind a smirk.

“At least it's good for something.”

She was Dalish. He had assumed she was nothing more than a savage with vallaslin branching out like vines on her forehead, hair caught in a rolled and knotted braid to keep it out of the way of her bow. But she took direction well, fought well too. Fell into leadership well. Whatever else he thought of this new world, at least she'd proven she was adaptable, rolling with events with an equanimity he rather envied. So much had gone wrong, leaving him with only her to begin anew. It wasn't exactly a pleasant prospect.

He did not expect to find her movements so economical, nor her mind so agile and quick. He did not expect to find her admirable. He was not entirely comfortable with this turn of events.

Once they were settled, she spoke with him, asked him about his travels in the Fade. She showed genuine interest, seemed to respect his knowledge and wisdom. Absorbed the bits of history he gave her as the earth soaks in the rain. She asked the right questions. And he found himself in the role of mentor. Friend.

He had not meant to do that either.

He found himself distracted by her physical grace, and surprised himself by admitting it.

“Are you suggesting I'm graceful?” she asked, still smirking, still irreverent in the face of the terrible reality she found herself in.

“No, I am declaring it. It was not a subject of debate,” he heard himself say. A connection to this Dalish archer was not on his agenda. Nor was her intrigued thoughtfulness after his assertion. Surely it would not go too far, not upset his plans. Casual flirtation was harmless, was it not?

***

He walked into the camp after Haven's destruction and found that she'd managed to survive, not only her encounter with the darkspawn Magister, but the aftermath too. He overheard the whispers of how she'd started the avalanche herself, how she'd lived through the fall from the battlements with nothing more than bruises and scrapes. Andraste's hand was surely on her, they chattered.

No, just his mark, giving her a level of self preservation she did not know she had within her. It was untold what lengths the Anchor would go to to save her life before destroying it.

He walked with her, drawing her away from the refugees to give her at least _some_ honest information. She could not move the pieces on the board for him if she did not comprehend the game. “The orb Corypheus carries, it is ours. We must get it back.”

“How do you we do that?” she asked, equal parts despair and determination.

He led her then, to a place he knew was safe from harm. He _should_ know, he'd made it that way. It was a long way, a difficult journey. On more than one level.

But she had proven herself to be worthy of his attention. His respect. And he would need the Inquisition if he was going to succeed. What he wanted from her was less easily understood, if still easy to ignore.

Or so he told himself.

***

He knew when she entered the rotunda, of course. The very air changed when she breathed it. She was like a dancer, drawing the eye. Like a pulley, drawing him away from his better judgment. Bypassing his every attempt to ignore her. His gaze skittered over her vallaslin and focused on her mouth instead. _Probably not any wiser, old fool_ , he cautioned himself with a frown. He sat casually in his chair by the worktable, steepling his fingers to cover his expression.

“You're always so serious,” she said, leaning forward and boldly stroking the crease between his eyebrows with her thumb. His fingers laced together and tightened until his knuckles hurt. It was all he could do to not grab hold of her and...do something unutterably stupid. Didn't she know? Wasn't she aware?

No, she wasn't. She was so young. _Too_ young. And thought him merely another elf like her.

He forced his traitorous body to obey him and found a pleasant smile for her, dropping his hands away. “Forgive me, I do not mean to brood.”

She straightened up and hitched her hip onto his table. At least she was smart enough to find a spot clear of any ink or paint. She smirked at him. It did wonderful things to her eyes that he should not be paying attention to. “Don't feel you need to change on my account, Solas. The world is not exactly a jovial place. But I do wonder at what you worry so.”

_My plans went awry, and now I must play the apostate for these humans._

_My plans went awry, and now I am tortured with the light in your eyes._

_My plans went awry_...

“It is of no concern,” he said aloud, standing up, too tall among her kind. Too lanky among the humans. He did not fit in this new world. He made an effort to clear the frown that seemed most comfortable on his face now. “Was there something you needed?”

***

A small wolf shaped from stone stood amidst the memory of what was. Nothing of the Dalish camp remained now, but this. He frowned at it. And she, standing next to him, brushed her thumb between his eyes, smoothing his skin with a sweep of leather.

“You're doing it again, lethallin.”

He looked down at her – an unfathomable distance made not just of inches – and raised an eyebrow at her forwardness, here where others could see such an intimate gesture. “Why is it here?”

“It would not be proper to say we Dalish venerate Fen'Harel,” she said, her voice soft with nostalgia. She turned towards the wolf and he could no longer see her expression. But that was all right; she could not see his. “But we are ever mindful of his presence, and remind ourselves that he is always to be respected, if not feared. I couldn't tell you why they left it, though. We usually don't.”

She crouched down and put her hand on the stone, and for a blazing moment, he felt that touch in his soul, marveling at the irony of her words while standing so near him. If only he...no, he could not. Millennia of sleep had not made him a simpleton in his dotage. They would be no closer to his objective if she knew its true purpose. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was not ready to see revulsion in her eyes. Alas, he feared that day was coming. Even as he stumbled over why he cared.

“' _Ware, lest the Dread Wolf take you_ ,” she murmured, accented and broken.

 _He would if he could_ , he thought, a stark contrast to the criticism he wanted to reach for against her use of Elvish, bastardized as it was now. Curse him for a fool, he was in love with her, and wasn't that just the biggest plan gone awry of them all?

“I wonder why he did it sometimes. Why he betrayed the gods.”

“Perhaps it wasn't betrayal, but rebellion.” Curse his tongue too. He hadn't wanted to say anything while he worked to file this revelation into place. It wasn't meant to be like this. But his wayward tongue had always gotten the better of him. It was getting harder to maintain a dispassionate facade over his own doings, twisted into fairy tales to frighten children or plain forgotten. It was sickening how much the People had lost while he slumbered and become vilified in their legends.

“Hmm...” She sounded thoughtful, and it brought him back to the present. Her head cocked to the side and the trailing end of her coiled braid shifted with it, exposing the back of her neck at his feet. He must not touch. He balled his fists, realized it and deliberately laced his fingers together behind his back, knowing full well it made him appear coldly smug. But better that than do something he couldn't take back. “They say history is written by the victor,” she went on, thankfully oblivious, “but there were no victors there, were there?”

“No, there were not.” _No, no victors. My rebellion did nothing but reduce the People to savage ashes of their former glory_. His spoken words had been clipped, almost angry. The look she turned up to him was startled by the layer of vehemence that he could not explain to her.

The expression passed when the others called to her and she left him at the statue of himself with a brief touch on his arm. He supposed it was meant to be consoling, a bit of commiseration between two elves who had lost so much. He waited until he had control of his breath before joining them and moving on.

***

They walked in the Fade Haven, side by side and alone. She didn't appear to have recognized the shift from consciousness to sleep, but then again, he had always been subtle. It had served him so well before...

“Sweet talker,” she said, her voice low and chuckling. She'd caught him out, once more expressing a level of emotion for her that he should not allow. He turned away from her. He had resolved not to have her, hadn't he? If he did not acknowledge the complication his feelings created, they would pass, would they not? But she was good at finding the chinks in his armor, of getting him to say more than he intended.

And then she was turning him back and her mouth was on his and he forgot. Forgot his resolution. Forgot that he was the Dread Wolf and she was a remnant to be seen only as a reflection of what should have been and...

She tasted of sweet wine and the rosewater glycerin she used to keep her lips from chapping. Her tongue was firm against his, her sighs so quiet he didn't hear them over the pounding of his blood. She pulled away, suddenly acutely aware of what she'd done. Oh no, he couldn't have the merest taste and then give it up so quickly. He pulled her back to him, rougher than he meant but she didn't complain. He bent over her, arcing her backwards and devouring her. She clung to him, impatience in her legs, desperation in her fingertips against him and it broke the suspension of the dream. He meant to let her go, but couldn't resist placing a final kiss on her before he did.

“It isn't right, even here.” He tried to back out of her arms, but she followed. Her thumb traced between his eyes and he shuddered all over.

“This isn't real,” she said.

“Where did you think we were?” he asked, conjuring a teasing lilt to his voice.

She shook her head. “No, it's not that. You...you aren't frowning.”

“No?” he breathed, hardly aware of it, or of his own expression.

She smiled up at him, her focus shifting from his eyes to her thumb prowling now across his forehead. She traced the small scar there and he wished, oh how he wished he could let her see, tell her the truth, make her _understand_... “No.”

He forced himself away, to put space between them. A step, two. Took her answer as a command to stop, even though he knew she didn't mean it that way. It offered him a way out, a way to constrain this hunger before he gave in to it. “Whether or not this is real is a matter of debate. Best discussed when you...wake up.”

There was an instant of shock on her face before she vanished. He could imagine her jolting awake in her bed, the bed he'd put her in before bringing her dreaming mind here. He had ruthlessly suppressed then how he felt about knowing she slept in the chamber that was once his own. Now he stayed in the Fade, staring at where they'd stood, her mouth delicious on his, her arms around him in trust and desire. He was a fool, and he was going to regret it, he knew.

He was beginning to welcome it.

***

In the morning light, she came to him, a mix of bashful yet intrigued. “I've never done anything like that before.”

“Forgive me,” he said, contrition strong in the aftermath, regardless of the fact that it was a lie. He wasn't sorry, not at all. “It was...ill considered.”

She tilted her head at him. “Why?”

“You have duties I should not take you away from.”

“Why?' she questioned again, like a child, incessantly curious.

He had no answer that he could give her. Had no way to tell her that he was using her, using the Inquisition, for his own ends. That he simultaneously wanted her for himself, and damn the world to hang. There was nothing he could say that would not lead to more questions and more questions, until he'd told her all of it. She was canny and clever, and in another world, another era, he would have gladly given anything for her. But not this one.

“Solas...I am not a child, untouched and innocent.” _Oh, but you are_... “I want to know where this goes. And I think you do too.”

“I'll...think about it.” _Always, forever, I'll think about it, vhenan. But I will not act, please do not ask me to._..

“Take all the time you need.” She darted forward, her thumb against his brow now familiar and he greedily absorbed it, his eyes drifting closed. “But do not let it worry you,” she whispered, a hair's breadth away.

If she had stayed, he doubted he would have stopped himself from kissing her – or more – but she was already gone, a wisp on the wind. He stared down at his hands, empty and powerless against something like this. He took a deep breath and took up the nearest brush at hand, turning to the newest unfinished wall. If later he covered over the delicate portrait of her with something else before anyone... _she_...could see it, that was his own business.

***

She answered his knock as if this were a regular occurrence and he entered without allowing himself to examine how normal it felt. But things had changed, she knew now that he was not what he appeared. Meeting Abelas had shown that. She'd heard him admit to being ancient too. Some explanation was warranted. “Inquisitor, I...”

“Yes?” She was unwinding her braid from the complex roll she kept it in at the back of her head. More and more unfurled like a ribbon until it hung over her shoulder nearly to her waist. She pulled off the waxed tie with which she kept the braid bound and began to unravel it, her head turned to the side as she worked it loose. When he didn't speak she turned to him, her face open and expectant.

“I wondered if I might have a moment of your time...” He trailed off, seeing the length of her unbound hair. She had unfinished the braid and tossed the whole wavy mess of it over her shoulder. It swung around her hips as she crossed the chamber to pick up her brush. It was...entrancing.

She began to brush it, long strokes through the waves, stopping now and then to worry free the tangles. No wonder she kept it wrapped as tightly as she did. There was so much of it. He saw her struggle to reach the ends and stepped forward almost before he knew what he was doing.

“May I?” he asked, holding out his hand for the brush.

“All right?” She sounded mildly apprehensive. What would a bald man know of brushing hair? The obviousness of her thoughts made him smile and he took the brush and gently turned her back to him to begin.

“Once, so long ago no one now lives who remembers, I had hair such as this,” he said, dragging the brush through the locks. He took his time, easing out the tangles, smoothing the edges, turning a chore into a sensuous, intimate act. She relaxed her shoulders and rolled her neck under his ministrations and he very nearly threw the brush aside and put his hands on her as he itched to. He reined in his base urges and concentrated on what he was doing.

“What happened to it?” she asked. Of course she was curious. More than a thousand years of sleep took it, as it took the brilliance from his eyes, the pigment from his skin. He wouldn't say so, however. She was too clever to be handed such clues, regardless of the fact that he'd come here with the intent to tell her...at least some of it.

“A mystery for the ages,” he said instead, lifting the mass of her hair to brush from underneath it.

She hummed a pleased sound and he nearly faltered, his heart skipping. This wasn't the way he wanted to hear that, but it would have to do. It would have to.

“Just how old are you, Solas?” she asked, very softly.

He sighed. “Too old, sometimes.”

“Did you...how did you...?”

“How have I lived so long?”

“Yes.”

“Just like the Sentinels at Mythal's temple. Uthenera.” The simple words seemed to satisfy her, and she said nothing more as he finished the brushing.

She ran her fingers through her hair when he stopped, determining for herself that every tangle was gone, every snarl and snag. It lay across her shoulders and down her back like a cloak and he tortured himself with the mental image of her draped over him, wearing nothing but that hair. How he would twine it around his wrist to hold her in place. How he'd wrap it around...

“That was well done, Solas. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“Now, you said you wanted a moment from me?”

He smiled, a small curve of his lips that hid the feral need inside him behind his teeth. All the explanations in the world would not change this clawing desire for her, just as this desire could not be allowed to change his goal. He didn't know what he'd been thinking. “Another time, perhaps. I did not mean to disturb you.”

He put the brush on her table and backed away from her before he gave in to the temptation to take her in his arms. She followed him and her thumb rose to to its accustomed place between his eyes. She smoothed and soothed the crease there, as she always did. And as always, he was motionless under her touch, soaking it in like a man parched. Her eyes imbued the gesture with a dual meaning, knowing what she did now. “You didn't.”

He captured her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist before he thought twice. Her pulse jumped under his lips and he remembered himself. He let go of her. “Another time. Goodnight, Inquisitor.”

He freely admitted to himself once he was safe on the other side of her door that he had just fled like a coward.

***

She'd sought him out, asked him to walk with her. He couldn't say no. He craved her presence like a drug. Powerless to stop, shamed to his core for deceiving her, even if it was just by omission. He did not protest when they arrived in her quarters, where memories flooded him, old and new. The feel of her hair on his fingertips remained, still, days later. It stung, but it was poignant and sweet. He reveled in it like the lovesick idiot he was.

He went onto the balcony, hoping the vast expanse of mountain and sky would center him as it had when he was young, and this was his place. He'd been so reckless once. So impulsive. He wasn't that man anymore. Was he?

“What were you like?” he asked. “Before the Anchor. Has it affected you, changed you in any way? Your mind, your morals, your...spirit?”

She laughed, gazing at her bare hand as if she could divine the answer. “I was a rebellious hellion to hear the Keeper speak. Always too curious for my own good. Too prone to mischief and disaster.” She stroked the edges of the Anchor where it glowed faintly on her palm. “Now? I'm not sure I recognize myself anymore. Well, aside from the disaster part. That's stayed the same. Why do you ask?”

“You show a wisdom I've not seen since...” _Careful, old man_. “Since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. You are not what I expected.”

“Are you sure you are speaking of me?” she asked with self-deprecation. He sighed, exasperated and amused by turns.

“Most people are predictable. You have shown subtlety in your actions, a wisdom that goes against everything I expected. If the Dalish could raise someone with a spirit like yours, have I misjudged them?”

“No, you haven't. Not really. Most Dalish are more concerned with impressing other hunters with a good shot and complaining about how awful humans are. There are only a few who seem to care about the old ways.”

“As you do. Perhaps that is it. Most people act with so little understanding of the world. But not you.”

“Solas, why are we talking about this? What does it mean to you?”

“It means I have not forgotten the kiss.” _Or anything else_.

“Good,” she replied, stepping closer, into his personal space. The need to touch, to _consume,_ became overwhelming and he turned his back, closing his eyes against it. Her small hand tucked around his arm, holding him back. “Don't go,” she whispered.

“It would be kinder in the long run,” he warned. The only warning he could give in that moment. He had no fight left in him. He craved too much, and if he kept refusing it, he would come to hate it. Hate her. Was it worth tormenting himself over things he would not change? He was going to fail her either way. Her fingers dug into the crook of his elbow, small and frail and omnipotent on him. “But losing you would...”

_Losing you would make everything worthless. Unbearable._

_Easier_.

 _It would not, old man. It would only make it easier for you to embrace the oblivion_.

He turned back to her, crowded her. He held her hips, feeling her shift to balance and kissed her. So gently at first, so careful. But her mouth parted under his and he could not stop. He wrapped himself around her, drowning in her sweetness, emboldened as her arms rose to circle him, hold him tight. She curled into him, folded herself backwards in his embrace, her teeth on his lower lip, her soft moan in his ear. How had he thought her innocent?

He pulled away to look at her eyes, dilated with desire for him and the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

 _Cursed tongue! Void take you and bury you under a thousand years of Blight, you weren't going to say it, you utter fool_.

He stalked away from her, back into the chamber, before he took her right there under the sky. He heard her footsteps scuff on the balcony but stop at the door and risked a look over his shoulder to see her leaning on it, her eyes knowing and a grin on her lips. He clenched his hands into fists to see her so carefree, ignorant of her own future. He felt the frown begin even before she crossed to him to smooth it away.

“You make it sound like you're angry about it,” she said softly.

“I'm...this isn't a good time for...”

Her hand cupped his jaw after caressing his brow. Her eyes were eloquent, although she'd gained control over the rest of her face. “Tell me you don't want me.”

His will was crumbling. He did not wish to lie to her, not about this. There were so many things he could not tell her, could not show her. He had not pursued her, but neither had he stopped her from pursuing him. He had hoped restraint would win. He had been proud of that once, it was hard won. Now his pride was in tatters. “I can't do that.”

“What if I love you as you love me?”

“I don't want to hurt you.”

She stepped back and tugged loose the roll of her braid. Her hands then reached for the buttons of her shirt and she flicked him with a gaze that did nothing to douse the flames inside him. “Let me be the judge of what hurts me.”

The first sight of her golden skin – dotted with freckles, smooth with youth, so willingly shown – was too much to keep fighting it. He pushed her hands away from the remaining buttons, undid them himself, stripping the garment from her roughly. He yanked and pulled until she was naked in his arms, her arms around him, her mouth on his. She made such wonderful sounds under her breath as he touched her, as he cupped her breasts, molded her muscles under his hands. He tugged on the long braid to expose her throat to his teeth, feeling her shudder with helpless pleasure. He could hear his own ragged breathing.

She was stripping him too, and the fire inside him rushed out through his skin, warming him. Warming her. She snuggled into his embrace as close as she could, while leading him across the room to the bed. They toppled together in a clinging heap and she laughed, openly delighted. He burrowed his face into her neck, inhaling her clean scent. She ran short nails along his back and it was his turn to shudder.

“I have waited so long for you,” she whispered. “I don't want to wait any longer.”

He drew back, looked down into her face, treasuring it. Now that he'd given up the pretense of fighting it, he meant to draw it out as long as he could. He wanted her desperate and wailing, undone by his touch. He levered himself off of her, nudging her to move higher on the bed so she lay against the thick pillows. He trailed her braid through his fingers as she moved, laying it out beside her so it wasn't pinned beneath her. He had plans for that braid.

She gasped softly and he looked up at her, concerned since wasn't actually touching her. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” she breathed. “I've just never see that look on your face before.”

“What look would that be?”

She blushed up to the tips of her ears. “Hungry.”

He grinned slyly, another expression she wasn't used to, one that felt unfamiliar and yet, right at home. “You have no idea, vhenan. None.”

She reached her arms out to him, inviting him in. “Show me.”

He lowered himself over her, careful to keep his weight off her chest, pushing her legs wide with his knees. He kissed her, starting off sweet and sipping. She grew pliant under him, her body relaxing. He trailed his fingers down her throat, measuring her jumping pulse, smiling against her lips. He drew back just enough to watch her eyes as he held her breast, her nipple directly in the center of his palm. She bit her lip and waited. He gave her what she was anticipating and squeezed. She arched into him.

He followed the path of his hand with his mouth, hovering for an instant over her breast as she drew in a shaky breath, then drawing the nipple in, scraping his teeth on the underside. His hand was now down by her hip, tracing the lines of her bones before inching ever closer to her heat. When he reached it, she jumped and moaned aloud. Achingly slow he slid two fingers into her, deeper and deeper until his knuckles were against her folds. Without withdrawing them he moved so he could whisper in her ear.

“You are so ready, vhenan, and I've barely touched you.” She clenched on his fingers and made a helpless sound. “Why is that?”

“Fenedhis...” she swore under her breath, bucking against his hand. “I...I want you...to...”

He pumped his fingers inside her and she _hissed_. He brushed his thumb against her nub and she spasmed. He chuckled and did it again, slower, feeling each tiny crease and groove of her flesh giving way beneath his pressing. Again and again he did it, in time with the easy strokes of his fingers.

“Fuck!” she shouted and came apart.

A part of him long thought buried woke inside, peering out from the shadows in his mind. He felt a rush of something he'd not felt for millennia watching her come so unstrung. He knew he would not stop at just once. He should, but he wouldn't.

“Solas...” she murmured, her eyes half closed. He hummed an answer, pulling his fingers from her slowly, spreading her open as he did. He watched her like a cat as she lifted her hips to follow his hand as it drew away, glistening with the evidence of her pleasure. Without taking his eyes off her, he raised his hand to his mouth and licked it clean. She stopped breathing.

“It seems I have made you quite a mess.”

“You have?”

He nodded, very serious. “Indeed. I should probably...clean you up.”

He didn't wait for her to reply, merely pushed her legs wide, draping one over his shoulder as he dove between them. He lapped at her, suckled on her, stroked her to new heights and she writhed in his grip, her cries hoarse and guttural. Her leg tightened over his shoulder, the muscles tense and firm against his ear. He slipped his fingers back into her and flicked his tongue against her and she whimpered and whined. He curled his fingers inside her and she peaked again, so breathless it was silent.

She was still panting as he rose over her, working his way back up her body, caressing and laving her skin. She wrapped around him, lithe limbs taut and still anticipating, her body trembling with aftershocks.

“Do you want more?” he whispered in her ear and she nodded, fervent, humming with desire still. He pressed kisses behind her ear, down her neck to where it joined her shoulder, and pressed his length inside her, going so deep he groaned. She raised her hips to meet him, legs tucked securely behind his back, nails dug into his arms. They were wordless now as he moved within her, driving her higher, thrusting slowly at first, but building to a thundering crest.

“More...please...” she begged. He withdrew from her body and she opened her eyes in shock. He smiled down at her and slid out from between her legs to roll her over. He guided her hips to where he wanted them, pulling her to her knees. Her breath was ragged and excited as she understood what he was doing. He spread her open and drove back inside her with a hard thrust, as far as he could go. She cried out at the fullness and rocked back against him.

Her braid had slithered across her back and he took it in his hand, wrapping it in loops around his arm, tugging her up, tugging her back until she was pinned between it and his body. A low moan escaped her and her tight walls clenched on him. And he smiled, for he had guessed this would be pleasing to her as well. His free hand dragged down her body until he reached her heat, cupping it, spreading the folds to stroke her as he pumped into her from behind. She grew frantic as he pushed her closer and closer to another climax and when she fell over that edge...

She lapsed into broken Elvish curses and he released her hair to hold tight to her hips, pounding at her, chasing his own finish. He emptied into her and folded himself across her back. She collapsed under him with a laugh, and he slipped from her body with a wet sound that made her laugh harder. She seemed content to have him lay across her, turning her face to the side to see him, her eyes sparkling. He pressed a line of kisses along her shoulder, nipping her so she jumped.

“Will you stay?” she murmured.

“I should not. It would be highly...” He stopped when he saw the light begin to fade from her expression. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I _shouldn't_. But I will.”

***

There were other times. None so good as the first. They were hurried and secret, ruthlessly taking of each other until they were raw. And each time he knew he must end it. Knew he must tell her. Knew that he'd drawn this noose around his own throat, knotted it with his own hands.

She glowed under his touch. Her body sang for him. And each time it forced the pain deeper into his soul. He began to wish for death to release him from it. His life's work undone by a slip of a girl with marks on her face that served only to remind him of all he despised.

He must decide.

Tell her, or not. Lose her, either way.

***

Her face was bare.

He had chosen.

What had he done? What had he let loose? Why had he allowed himself to fall for her so thoroughly? He had come so perilously close to spilling every truth that it brought him to a terrified halt. As it was the only honesty he had for her was painful, and he knew it. But he did it anyway, and she let him. She trusted him.

Her eyes were wide as she watched him turn from loving to fearful to withdrawn. She was so lovely, her skin clear and unmarred by anything but her emotions. And it hurt, as badly as any wound gained in battle. He couldn't breathe, could barely think.

“Solas...don't leave me now...”

 _I shouldn't have done this, vhenan. I should have walked away long ago. Found you once Corypheus was defeated, taken back my orb then, without ever having exchanged words with you. Without knowing your body. Kept myself locked away, small and hard like a pebble. I will destroy you, vhenan. Everything you are, everything you love. Including myself_.

“I...can't,” he breathed out, anguished. “I'm sorry.”

“Solas,” her voice had changed. Gone was the concern. Her eyes turned angry and her face twisted with it. “So that's it? You bring me here, remove the one thing that still held me to my clan, to my history, and then you're what...? You're leaving me?” He accepted her rebuke, accepted when she pushed him away from her, her bare face hardened as he had never been able to manage for himself.

“Dread Wolf _take_ you,” she swore, vehement and growling. It would have been better if she'd slapped him.

***

He let her run, gave her space and time and did not seek her out afterwards. He stayed confined in his rotunda, painting and expunging his grief into his murals. He traveled with her when she asked, gave his counsel when she wanted it, did not overstep when she didn't. He did not stop Cole from giving her answers, no matter that she did not understand them. He ignored the angry looks from her companions. Ignored their whispers.

“Harden your heart,” he told her. “Save your anger for the battle ahead.”

She ran from him again, confused, angry. Mourning.

And when his orb lay shattered at his feet, and everything around him fell as the Breach closed once more, she apologized to _him_. Questioned whether or not it could be repaired.

“Repairing it would not replace what has been lost. It was not...your fault. ” He stood, looking out over the carnage that was only the beginning and his soul felt heavy. Never had he felt more _dread_ than now. “It was not supposed to happen this way.”

He could not look at her. Could not see the cognizant sorrow on her face. “There's more, isn't there?”

“Yes.” Honesty, so simple and unexplained. All he could give her now. “No matter what comes, what we had was _real_. I hope you will believe that.”

She didn't have a chance to respond. The Seeker called to her and she turned away. It was time for him to depart. Now, when no eyes were on him, and no room was left for anything but what he carried with him. There was too much to say, and he was too cowardly to say it.

***

“I'm so sorry,” he murmured brokenly to the spirit within the witch, the one who knew him best, loved him as equal and brother and more.

“I am sorry too, old friend.” Mythal's power called to him and he cradled her as she withered and fell limp in his arms. As he absorbed it into himself, leaving Flemeth to age and die in a moment's flash. There was no room in him for this new grief. No place to fit it among the shards of his heart. He laid her gently to the ground, but did not weep.

The power settled inside him, amplifying his own until it burst from him.

It was time to begin.

***

The very air changed when she breathed it...even after two years apart.

“Solas.”

He stopped in his tracks. He turned slowly, as if putting it off would wound him less. She'd followed him here, she had to have seen what he'd done. The tone in her voice made him think that she knew other things too. At long last. Certainly it was clear she recognized him, even though he bore little resemblance to the apostate she'd once known.

Before he could speak, the Anchor flared, bringing her to her knees and screaming with pain. He didn't think, just reacted, exerting dominion over the mark that was his, suppressing it long enough to finish this. He should just take it and leave. That was his plan, wasn't it? But he couldn't resist a final chance to talk, to share the same space, the same breath. To give her a chance to lance the boil of her anger and hurt. He owed her that.

“That should give us more time,” he said. “I suspect you have questions.”

“The Qunari answered some, and traveling through your Eluvians answered more.” She frowned at him for a change, her eyes stormy. “You're Fen'Harel. You're the Dread Wolf. My only question is 'why'.”

“Well done,” he praised. She had proven a faithful student, curious and clever. Doubt had never had a place in him. “You always were wise beyond your years. I was Solas first, 'Fen'Harel' came later. An insult I took as a badge of pride. The Dread Wolf inspired hope in my friends, and fear in my enemies. Not unlike Inquisitor, I suppose.” He paused, letting the ache fill him. “And now you know. What is the old Dalish curse? 'May the Dread Wolf take you'.”

She shook her head and came closer, her hand reaching for him. Even now, he hadn't the will to stop her, and her thumb smoothed against his brow, stroking away the furrows. They both remembered her hurling those very words at him like stones. “And so he did,” she said sadly.

“No, I did not lay with you under false pretenses. What was between us was genuine and real.”

“You still lied to me, misled me. I _love_ you. If you had just told me...did you think I wouldn't understand? You call me wise beyond my years, beyond my upbringing. Does that mean nothing?”

“What would you have had me say? That I was the great adversary in your people's mythology?”

“I would have had you _trust_ me, as I trusted you!”

For a moment he couldn't speak, and the agony crashed over him like a physical injury, leaving him breathless. Her bare face was testament to her trust in him. How much of this could have been avoided if he'd been willing to speak of it? But he hadn't, and the fault lay at his feet. “Ir abelas, vhenan.”

She shoved him away, heedless of how he might retaliate. But he did nothing; he'd earned her wrath. “Tel-abelas. If you care, give me the truth.”

He turned away from her, the better to form his thoughts without meeting her eyes, accusing and hot. “I sought to free my people from slavery to would-be gods. I broke the chains of all who wished to join me. The false gods called me Fen'Harel, and when they went too far, I formed the Veil and banished them forever.”

“The place where the sky was held back,” she murmured, putting the pieces together. She came close again, turning him to face her. “You led us there. Skyhold is yours, isn't it? _Your_ fortress where you...you... Was it all just some sick joke? What did they even do?”

“No. It was never a joke. You needed a home, a place of strength to fight back against Corypheus. He should have died unlocking my orb. When he didn't, my plans were thrown into chaos. When _you_ survived, I saw the Inquisition as the best hope for stopping him. And I...I wanted better memories to live there.”

He paused, pushing away the memories that flooded him. He turned his attention to her other question. “The Evanuris killed Mythal, the best of them, the only one who cared for her people, protected them. With her gone, their greed knew no bounds. I freed the elven people from them, and in so doing, destroyed their world.”

“How?”

“You saw the remains of Vir Dirthara. The library was intrinsically tied to the Fade, and the Veil destroyed it. There were countless other marvels, all dependent on the Fade, all destroyed. Your legends are half right. We were immortal once, all of us. It wasn't the arrival of humans that made us begin aging. It was me.”

“You love the Fade, why would you lock it away?”

“Because every alternative was worse. The Evanuris would have destroyed the whole world if they had not been stopped.”

“I thought they were elven mages, how did they come to be remembered as gods?”

“Slowly. It began with a war. War breeds fear, fear breeds a desire for simplicity. Right and wrong, good and evil. Chains of command. After the war ended, respected generals became leaders, then kings...and finally gods.”

She was silent a moment, taking it in, her agile mind racing to put it all into perspective. He could see it in the way her expressions changed. She let him step away from her now, put some distance between them. Her eyes turned hard when she reached the conclusion of her thoughts. She guessed his plan, but still wanted confirmation. He knew this when she asked, “What would have happened...if the orb killed Corypheus and you'd taken it back?”

“I would have entered the Fade with the mark you now bear and torn down the Veil. As this world burned in the raw chaos, I would have restored the world of the elves. My world.”

“You would have rewritten time?” She shook her head at him, aghast. “Countless lives that would never have been. _My_ life would never have been. You could have lived with that? I didn't think you were that kind of monster. There must be another way.”

“I would never have known you. Never have...” he found he couldn't say the words aloud, not now. “You taught me there is value to this world. I take no joy in what I must do. Sometimes terrible choices are all that remain. I _will_ save the elven people, even if it means this world must die.”

“Solas, in the Crossroads I learned that the Dalish legends about you are wrong. _You_ are wrong to think there are no alternatives. Please. Let me help you find something better.”

“You saw another story, one written in desperation that gives me more credit that I ever deserved.” He ran his hand over her hair, unable to stop himself. She leaned into his touch, even as her heart was broken and angry. “And I cannot do that to you, vhenan. I walk the Din'anshiral. There is only death on this journey. I would not have you see what I become.”

Her fingers folded into the pelt on his shoulder. He imagined he could feel in his skin, tightening and holding him as if he might disappear in a puff of smoke. “But you would do that to yourself? I cannot bear the thought of you alone.”

He brought her closer, uncaring of how much it hurt that this was the end of it. He bent forward and pressed his brow to hers, breathing in the scent of her one last time. He was weary of fighting, so close to giving in and letting her come with him. She would be utterly destroyed if he let that happen. And he would have to watch what he'd wrought. And that was enough to let her go.

“I would have you live out what time remains in relative peace and comfort. Forsake me, ma vhenan. For both of us.”

“Why does it matter to you if I live in peace if you're going to destroy my world anyway?” Her anger had won, but it was a sad thing, powerless and despairing.

“Because I am not Corypheus. I do not want dominion. I just want to make it right.”

“Damn you,” she whispered, her anger fading like fog before sunlight. And yet her words felt like a benediction. She had seen so much further into him than anyone else. She couldn't fight his plan with logic or emotion because she understood his reasoning.

_I was already damned, vhenan. By myself and by your love._

“What about the Anchor? It's getting worse.”

“I know. A mortal was never meant to bear its weight. I drew you here to take it back, to save you from it.” He let go of his conscious control over it, flinching as pain overcame her after the relief he'd provided. He held her steady, supporting her flagging weight. He took her hand in his, feeling the raw, untamed power held there. It would kill her if he didn't take it back. “I'm sorry.”

“ _I won't give up on us_.” Her command of his native tongue drove a fresh spike of anguish into him and he could only shake his head in denial. “You don't have to destroy this world, Solas, I'll prove it to you.”

“I would treasure the chance to be wrong, my love.”

He kissed her, long and slow as he tugged the sharp edges that held the Anchor bound in her skin. She bit his lip from the pain, and he let her, let her draw blood from him to ease her own agony. The power of the Anchor settled into him as it rightly should have all along, leaving her arm a mass of sparks and disintegrating flesh. He could not undo that damage, and she would lose it. But she would live.

When he released her, she collapsed to her knees, her cries choked back with a force of will he'd admired from the first. It was time for him to leave, before he could not do it. “I will never forget you.”

He cast a final look at her before he stepped through the Eluvian, and hardened his heart to turn away. To her credit, she did not try to stop him.

***

He wandered through the Fade, touching places he had not seen in far too long, remembering spirits he had known, lives he had influenced. Choices he had made. It was quiet now, as if the whole of creation held its breath for his next move.

A spark of brightness flashed in the corner of his eye. He turned toward it and saw her in the distance, growing ever closer. Her arms were outstretched to him, one ending at the elbow, puckered and withered. She was spun of gold here, her hair unbound, her limbs bare as she ran clad only in a shift of glimmering points of light. Tattooed on her amputated arm was a sigil, three eyes over a stylized snarling maw. He recognized the image as one he'd painted himself, long ago. He had not anticipated how much it would ache to see it on skin like vallaslin.

He could not hear her call out to him; he separated himself from her reach on instinct. He could only see her, turning in fitful circles as she lost sight of him. Her face full of determination and resolve. She wanted to save him still.

He didn't know whether or not he wanted her to succeed.

He only knew this wouldn't be the last time he saw her.

 _Var lath vir suledin_ , she cried out in his memory.

 _I wish it could, vhenan_.

Small, so deep inside he barely heard it in himself, _I hope it will_.


End file.
